The missing Muggle
by Kuri333
Summary: One person missing, two in charge of finding out his whereabouts. Too bad they are not on the same team. (RN/NT, post GoF)
1. Prologue

"John McGinty?"

Albus Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "That name does not ring a bell, I'm afraid."

"That's to be expected," Remus replied. "He's a Muggle."

"And he's been missing?"

"Apparently. He seems to be a loner," Remus ignored the fact that he could be described thus as well and went on. "The only way I know this is because his Muggle landlady reported to the police that he had failed to pay her three months in a row, and that there has been no sign of him ever since."

"How do you know this?"

"Keeping an eye on missing notices. McGinty seems to be just a regular man, and there might be millions of different explanations on why did he go and where he might be. Only… well, his mother was a squib."

Dumbledore's eyes widened. "Is that so?"

"Her maiden name was Clearwater."

* * *

With a loud sigh, Rufus Scrimgeour sat heavily behind his desk.

He had been partially amused at the beginning, although he had succeeded on not letting it show. After half an hour of hearing Fudge's arguments, though, he was just plainly annoyed.

 _John McGinty_ , the hastily scribbled name seemed to mock him from the piece of parchment on his hand. Just two words, a name, a person. Add to that a whole lot of paranoia and two nutters and now he, Scrimgeour, had been ordered to task an Auror into what seems nothing but a wild-goose chase.

"The old man is plotting something," Fudge had said, his face reddening by the second and his hands in fists. "Ever since that accident during the Tournament it's just plain what he's after."

As a reply Scrimgeour just raised his eyebrows in what he hoped looked like polite interest.

"The Ministry, of course," Fudge declared.

This was hardly the first time Scrimgeour had heard something like this. And truth to be told, he had been hoping for Fudge to see sense after the fuss of Diggory's death had passed. He had been quite mistaken.

And just after a week, Dumbledore had proved half the wizarding community that something was wrong. In Scrimgeour's opinion, it was just the case of a very old man going senile. Many members of the community seemed to agree with that statement. After all, declaring that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back, and that Harry Potter, of all people, had fought him and returned undamaged was ridicule. But while most of the people the head of the Auror Ofice had talked to, agreed that Dumbledore was losing his touch, to put it politely – although "loony" seemed to be the word of the week –, Fudge and a few others had taken a very different, quite paranoid approach.

"I need you to look into that, Scrimgeour." Fudge was saying. "I very much suspect it is all a manoeuvre to make us lose our time, or even to distract us from the search Sirius Black-"

In that speech, Dumbledore had asked Fudge to take seriously look into some strange recent disappearances. At the time, the Minister for Magic had snorted quite audible and right afterwards he had tried to make several jokes out of the statement. In private, though, he was taking an entirely different approach.

"But Minister," this time Scrimgeour could not stop himself from pointing out the obvious. "If that's what Dumbledore's after… making us lose our time by looking into so-called disappearances that probably mean nothing, wouldn't we be doing exactly what he wants, by tasking an Auror to look into what he had told us to-?"

"I want to be sure!" Fudge banged the desk with his fist. "I know it's nothing! I'm sure it's nothing! But we can't take risks now, can we?"

And with that, Scrimgeour had been dismissed with a name on a piece of parchment and the announcement that the Minister would expect a full report on the matter.

Alone in his office, the Auror let out another loud groan. So Dumbledore had named those missing people that might had been targets of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named… proven that he really was back, which he was sure was not the case. The law enforcement squad had been tasked with the wizards and witches of that list, and then… there had been McGinty. The only Muggle of the lot. And therefore, complex enough to go to the Aurors instead.

Apparently, he was missing too.

And that meant nothing to Scrimgeour. He suspected Muggles disappeared all the time, and that's why they had something called "police". He had more than enough with Wizarding problems, thank you very much. But… if Dumbledore had to be trusted, sudden inexplicable disappearances, even amongst Muggles, could be a sign of something much more sinister gaining power.

Or maybe Scrimgeour was just the casualty of two nutters and their battle of wills.

Whatever the case, now he had to ask an Auror to stop doing whatever important, real task they were doing, in order to follow pure paranoia. And right now, as always, their hands were more than full with real issues!

He would not task somebody important, and he would most definitely not take away anybody from Shackelbolt's team. He needed somebody that could do a passable work and a readable report, while not being a loss for the department. Somebody that would accept the task without reading much into it. Somebody able enough, but not indispensable.

"Maggy," he called his assistant, whose head appeared on the threshold a moment later. "Please, get me Tonks."

* * *

 **AN:** It's been such a long time I'd almost forgotten how to post a new story. This story is not related to anything I've published before. It's just that RL and NT are such great characters, I love to play with them and put them in different scenarios.

Of course, this is all JK Rowling's and I'm very thankful she allows us to borrow her stuff.


	2. The flat

Although huge and well-stocked for academic endeavours, it had taken Remus just a couple of hours to realise that, when trying to find missing Muggles, the dusty old volumes inside the library at Hogwarts were almost useless.

Taking advantage of the students being away on their summer holidays, he had been free to roam around bookshelves, enjoying being back in what he considered to be his element. He had even indulged himself in browsing the most recent acquisitions. But he had a task to do and after being sure he had exhausted Hogwarts' resources, Remus needed to trace a new plan of action.

A tome on wizarding families genealogy had told him all he needed to know about the Clearwaters... until John McGinty's mother. The book stopped on squibs and their dates of birth – 1924, in this case – but other than that, there was not even the name of spouses if there were any.

He could get much more information at the Ministry of Magic, he was sure of it. Just as he was sure how unwelcomed his presence there would be. Ironically, the Muggle world was much safer and friendlier for a werewolf that, over the years, had learned to blend in, in order to get jobs.

It had not been such a long time since John MacGinty had been reported missing, and Remus hoped his flat would be still for rent. He was not disappointed, and after spending two minutes with the landlady, he considered himself lucky even. She was indeed a chatty individual.

"... you'll understand why I insist on that two-months deposit, don't you? In case somebody just decides to run for it again!"

"You mean he didn't move out?" Remus asked, with incredulous voice.

"No, sir, he just disappeared! I had to call the police; he was three months late on the rent and he wouldn't even answer the door or the telephone. For a moment there I even thought he might be dead!"

While circling the now empty sitting room, Remus wondered if Mrs. Jones was not right on that account.

"So what happened?" Remus adopted the air of an average gossip-monger.

"Well," Mrs. Jones leaned comfortably against the bare wall, "the police got a warrant, or whatever it's called... you know... to just open the door and enter. Well... it looked as if he'd left a long while ago. All was in order but very dusty."

"Nothing missing?" Remus said, casually walking down a hall, playing the part of a interested future tenant.

"I wouldn't know, would I? I'm not one of those landladies that come in and check every other day! I have a flat on the ground floor, but other than bumping into him now and then, I'd rarely seen Mr. McGinty. He'd just deposit the money on my bank account and that was it. Which is what I'd expect you to do, as a matter of fact." Mrs. Jones eyed him suspiciously and Remus was glad he was wearing his less old clothes and looking respectable.

"Of course," he agreed. "Punctual deposits and no noise at all." He wanted to know what the police had made of the flat, but it was evident the subject had changed and he did not know how to bring it back without raising her suspicious.

Mrs. Jones smiled indulgently. "Now, now. I know a suitable bachelor like yourself _must_ entertain friends now and then. A lady friend perhaps?" She winked and Remus felt a little heat on his cheeks. "That's perfectly all right with me. Only, no wild parties."

"No like your previous tenant..." Remus probed.

"Oh, but he _was_ very quiet!" the old landlady said. "It was a bit odd, really. He wasn't old, or strange, or unpleasant... but I think I never saw any friends or family coming to visit."

"None at all?"

"I might have seen somebody, once or twice, but I never paid proper attention. As said, he was quiet and that was it."

Remus feigned interest in the windows to gain more time to think about other questions or comments that might trigger more information.

"Is it all right if I bring work home?" he asked off-handed.

"What sort of work?" Mrs. Jones asked quickly.

"Nothing serious," Remus hastened to say. "I'm a professor," he improvised, "and sometimes students or colleagues might come to discuss-"

"Oh, that's fine by me," the landlady looked relived.

"I'm sorry for the inconveniences... I suppose Mr.- what was his name? McGoon?"

"Ginty. McGinty."

"He never took work home."

"Not that I knew of."

"Lucky man," Remus sighed looking out the window, "to have a job that leaves you alone on Sundays... what did he do?"

Mrs. Jones waved a hand dismissively.

"Never really asked. Trade of some sort, I suppose. He might have mention deliveries and clients when he first came. The police found some boxes full of something, but they took them. I imagine they store people's things somewhere in case they come back."

"So they think he'll come back?" Remus realised a second too late the eagerness on his voice, but she seemed oblivious.

"They think McGinty just went to live somewhere else in order to save himself some money. They haven't really say anything," Mrs. Jones voice lowered two octaves, "but I reckon they suspect something fishy. Who would leave furniture and clothes behind only to save three months' worth rent?"

Remus nodded lazily.

"Nothing for you to worry about," Mrs. Jones added. "I've changed the locks, see? So even if he wanted to come back, he would not be able to."

He nodded again, this time more businesslike, although his mind was somewhere else.

"Now," she spoke again, "if you excuse me, I'm waiting for another possible tenant. Of course," she added, "you have the upper hand, since you came first but... well, it's a very good flat. I'd hurry to take it if I were you."

Remus smiled and agreed it was a good flat, avoiding to comment on the spots of humidity on the kitchen wall and the cracked tiles in the bathroom. He walked to the front door, Mrs. Jones on his heels.

"I let you know as soon as I can," he said vaguely.

"Of course," she added, interrupted by the sound of the bell. "That's probably she," she added, looking pointedly at the door.

With a nod, Remus exited and climbed down the stairs. On the first landing he almost bumped into a tall middle-age woman with iron grey hair. She looked the chatty type too, he thought on passing, before exiting the building.


	3. The cousin

"I never really saw much of her while growing up," Demeter Clearwater was saying, looking through the window as if it was the past, and not a quiet street what was outside. "She and my Mum did not really went along very well, you see?"

Tonks nodded, restraining herself from popping one question after the other, and trying to give the woman in front of her time to gather het thoughts.

"I don't think she was very nice to us either… but that's almost to be expected, right?"

"What do you mean?" Tonks asked softly.

"Well, you said it yourself," Demeter said matter-of-factly. "She was a squib. And I reckon it's very hard for squibs, not belonging to any of the two worlds." She remained silent for a moment. "You see, we're a large family, and she was the only squib as far as I'm aware of. So, it must have been depressing to be with us. But I can't imagine a squib feeling truly comfortable amongst Muggles either, right? They know too much, they've seen too much, and worse, they must feel there's something faulty with them."

Tonks nodded slowly. That was a general thought shared amongst wizards. Some families took it very badly when the eleventh birthday of their children arrived without them showing any trace of magical ability at all.

"When was the last time you saw her?" Tonks asked, moving ever so slightly to the side so that her badge pined to her robes was clearly visible. Although the conversation had been friendly so far, she wanted Demeter Clearwater to fully understand these were official business.

"Let me think… I must have seen her twice… maybe three times in my whole life. As said, aunt Alethea never got along with my mother or their siblings… Oh, now I remember! It must have been my birthday… yes, it was my eleventh birthday." She went suddenly quiet and pressed lips replaced what had been a reminiscent smile.

"Yes?" Tonks asked.

"Well…" Demeter continued very slowly. "I could have had something to do with all that. I guess… well, I had gotten my Hogwarts letter a couple of weeks before, and that turned my birthday into a huge celebration. And even though the family tried to be sympathetic towards aunt Alethea, there are some things you just can't keep quiet. My grandparents were very proud… they all were," there was an almost repentant ring in her voice.

"So you think she took offence?"

"Not exactly…" Demeter doubted. "I think she was just really sad her son hadn't got one. He was two years older than me. Even if you're a squib I reckon you can't help hoping…"

Tonks almost jumped off the couch she was sitting on.

"Son?" she said, her voice ringing.

"Yeah," Demeter nodded. "I had forgotten about him until now… which is not good, since he's my cousin."

"Do you remember his name?"

"John," she said without a doubt. "We all used to make fun of that, because we have all these old, pompous names, and there he was little John, non magical and clueless about it all." Again she remained silent and Tonks had to actually bite her tongue to stop her flow of questions. "Kids can be cruel, I suppose."

"Do you remember the father?"

"Never met him. At the time it was unclear what to do in these cases. There is the Statute of Secrecy, of course, but what do you do with a squib born and raised amongst wizards and witches? What do you do with their spouses or close friends? It's much more complicated than it sounds. I don't even know if aunt Alethea's husband knew about us. Must have. I can't imagine John coming back home and not telling about his bigger cousins playing with toy brooms, or his aunts and uncles conjuring balloons out of thin air."

For a long moment Demeter gaze stared unfocused out the window again. It was plain she was on a long trip down memory lane, and Tonks did not really want to interrupt her. But she had to.

"Do you remember the last name? Of the Muggle husband?"

"The husband…?" she looked thoughtful. "I don't think… you can ask my brother Tadashi. He's older than me, he might remember. Mac… something. Not very useful, is it?"

Tonks smiled. "Not really."

"But wait," suddenly Demeter was on her feet. "I might have a photograph."

This time Tonks stood up as well, she could not help it. "You do?"

"It'll be very old, mind you. Maybe from that birthday… but that was thirty years ago."

"It's all right," Tonks assured her. "It might be of help."

"Can you wait a moment, then? I have to dig it out the attic."

Tonks nodded and Demeter went upstairs, mumbling under her breath. How useful would it be a picture of John McGinty at thirteen she had no idea, but at least that was a face to put with the name.

She looked around the sitting room. Demeter Clearwater had said she had not children of her own, but nonetheless the mantelpiece was decorated with many pictures of children and teenagers. It was indeed a large family and Tonks suspected those were her nieces and nephews.

Good ten minutes later, Demeter went down the stairs, carrying a huge leather-bound book.

"Here," she announced, showing Tonks a picture where a dozen of kids of different ages were smiling at the camera. "That's me," she said, unnecessarily pointing at a girl with pigtails in the middle of the crowd, and Tadashi is this one, but you were asking about… move you two," she poked at two small boys with the front teeth missing, "here, that's John."

It was a chubby boy with a mat of dark hair, looking at the camera half in awe, half eager. Unlike the rest of the kids, who were moving, waving, or even sticking out their tongues, he was almost perfectly still.

For a moment Tonks had a glimpse of exactly what Demeter had been saying, about how difficult your life must be if you were a Muggle in the middle of wizards and witches, and she could not help but feel sorry for the chubby thirteen year old boy.

"It's good that you people are finally worrying about squibs," Demeter said, apparently having similar thoughts. Tonks shifted uncomfortably. Since she was not sure about the reason for investigating this man, she had morphed her Auror robes to more neutral ones, while coming up with a story about doing research on squibs on behalf of the Ministry.

"I thank you for your time," she said almost abruptly, without giving Demeter the chance to ask more questions about what the Ministry had in mind. "If you happen to remember something, I would really appreciate you'd contact me."


	4. The other cousin

"Never saw him again," Damian McGinty said, without pausing his carrying of heavy crates from the back of a truck into the old pub. Remus had offered to help him, mostly because that seemed to be the only way to keep a conversation with him. He had simply refused to stop his task for something as trivial as the police badge Remus had shown him. It was a fake, of course, but Damian did not need to know that.

"Since when?" Remus asked, his voice a little breathless from the effort of carrying what seemed to be hundreds of bottles of beer.

"Since he moved to London, about ten years ago. His dad wasn't happy. And not keeping in touch was not nice." Damian left the box he was carrying with a rather unnecessary loud thud and went outside to pick another one. Remus followed him, distractedly considering stunning him for a little while and carrying the lot inside by magic.

"Why did he move?"

"How am I supposed to know? He said something about a job, but that's what we all say when we want to get away from home, right?"

"I wouldn't know," Remus said under his breath, following the patron with another two boxes in his arms. "Were you two close when you were growing up?" he added louder.

"Sometimes... no, not really. Weird family."

"How so?"

"Weird Mum." Damian stopped for a moment to clean his forehead with a very dirty handkerchief. For a long moment he stared at Remus. "I don't understand," he finally said. "The guard already came, and already asked those questions. Why asking again? What's the real deal?"

Fortunately, Remus was expecting something like this.

"Well," he said, trying to adopt a professional air. "He is still missing, so his case has been moved to a different department. Now it is my duty to retrace the previous officers' steps."

Damian grunted. "Missing. Bet he just went off again. Another "job"." He emphatically drew quotation marks in mid air.

"Leaving his stuff behind?"

For a long moment Damien just looked at Remus, his mouth closed.

"Tell you what," he finally said. "I'll get Cormack to finish unloading and you and I can have a beer and talk this over."

"I'm on duty," Remus protested half-hartedly.

"Bollocks," said the patron, taking two bottles from a near-by refrigerator and handing one to Remus, while pointing at two stools at the bar.

He then sat heavily and opened his bottle. "I never really liked him, even though we're almost the same age. Weird lot."

"How so?" Remus asked again.

"I know you're not supposed to speak ill of the dead, but… oh well," he took several large gulps of beer. "His Mum was odd. I don't know how to say it. I guess my uncle must've seen something in her, but what it was beats me. She always seemed to be angry about something. Grumpy all the time. They quarrel a lot too, she and my uncle. Sometimes you could hear them from the street."

"And John?"

"John was proper gone in the head. Always telling tales and thinking he was so important. We never really liked to be with him when we were growing up. And he used to speak about his Mum's family as if they were royal or something… which, of course, they were not."

"And afterwards?"

"You mean when he grew up?"

"Yes," Remus fidgeted with the bottle, taking a small sip out of courtesy.

"I never really saw much of him then. When we started secondary school he became much quieter, he kept a lot to himself. We went to the same school, only I was one year older, and I don't remember him having a group, or even a friend."

"And then?"

"Then nothing," Damian said, taking another generous amount of beer, "he went off to work at a large factory and then at another. His Dad mentioned once something about travelling and trading... I didn't pay proper attention to be hones. And then, I rarely saw him, except for Christmases at his Dad's or something like that. He kept on being quiet, but I always though he looked down to us. You know? When you have the feeling somebody despises you, even though they don't say a thing?"

Now that was a feeling Remus could honestly relate to, but he just nodded.

"And then, some ten years ago or something, he said he would move to London. His Mum had died not long ago and his Dad was in poor health. What business did John had in London, I have no idea. But off he went… good riddance," he added under his breath.

Remus did not know what to say. Damian was the third McGinty he had interviewed so far, and his take on the disappeared John differed very little from that of his sister and their uncle.

"No," Damian suddenly said. "I did saw him later. Of course. His Dad's funeral two years ago. I almost forgot."

"Was it here?"

"Yes. The grave is in the church cemetery if you want to check. John came just for a few days. He took care of deeds and such and then off he went again, back to London I suppose."

* * *

 **AN:** Thanks a lot for reading and reviewing! I'm sorry the chapters are short... but on the upside, I'm trying to post daily. Cheers!


	5. The station

Tonks knew she did not have forever to solve the McGinty case. For starters, because Fudge wanted a report on how she was doing, according to Scrimgeour. But especially because until now there was no telling what had happened and she was well aware that it could mean the worst had happened.

If he had been a regular Muggle, she suspected that a murder would not be easy to hide. But now that she had established the link to the magic world, infinite possibilities had opened in front of her eyes. So he was not a wizard, and neither his parents, but he had known enough, he had met wizarding folk. Who was to say that he had stopped seeing them altogether? And now she finally understood why this was a case for the Ministry for Magic, albeit a strange one.

And yet, despite of the time she did not had, she had spent the largest part of two days sitting on a bench, watching. Stiff from not changing positions, and tired of being dramatically morphed, she was not sure this was the kind of job she wanted for the rest of her life. She just hoped it had been worth it, and that the information she now had would be enough.

Her target was a police officer that seemed to have a high rank. And showed up for work at 9 am. If impersonating her would give her trouble, she had no idea, but so far this was her most promising lead. She had already applied for all information there was on John McGinty, which implied the use of one of the very scarce channels between the magical and the Muggle world. Scrimgeour had grunted, and hastened to tell her that she would have to wait and, even so, there was no saying she would find a thing on those files.

In a very bad mood, Tonks has hastily decided that, if she was not going to get information officially, she would have to get her on her own. From what she had gathered from the landlady, her most solid lead were McGinty's confiscated objects the police took when they raided the apartment. It had taken her some serious Muggle-related research and intensive use of the telephone – which, in her opinion, was just a crazy contraption – to finally find the place where at least some of those items could have been stored. It was part police station, part offices for the Muggle law enforcement squad, or whatever their name was, and today was the day she would go inside.

The only problem was, she had no idea of what to do once she got in there.

Improvising had worked for her on many occasions, so this time it would have to do it again.

The next day she Apparated near the garage entrance, a Disillusionment charm well cast on her, and waited. As soon as the automatic door opened to let a car in, she slipped in too, her back as close to the red brick wall as possible. The wait inside the parking lot was a short one. Two vehicles later, Tonks recognised her target, parking her small car next to a truck. She remembered something about surveillance using TV or something, and she had spotted what she thought could be cameras. Now was not the time to question if that was the only security these police people would have.

As carefully and silently as her two left feet would let her, she approached the driver's door just as the woman started getting out the car.

" _Stupefy_ ," she muttered, and the woman slumped on the car's sit. It was as good a place as any other to hide her, Tonks thought. Looking carefully at the woman's features and uniform, she hastily morphed and transfigurated her clothes. Rumbling into her purse she found documents. Stephanie Moore. It was now or never.

Following another officer that had just gotten out his own car, she entered the building through a small grey door, waiting to find an atrium of sorts, or something that might help her find her way.

The moment the door closed behind her back, Tonks realised she had been terribly mistaken. She was inside a small hall, filled with people talking and making coffee with a strange small machine. Some of them greeted her, and as a reply she just nodded. Too late she had realised she had not had the time to listen to officer Moore's voice; she would not be able to speak at all without blowing her cover. For a moment Tonks considered going back outside and trying another time, but the thought of the report she was not yet ready to write was scary enough, so she followed two officers into the next room, hoping this would be better.

It was not even a room, but a large corridor flanked with doors. People were walking up and down, and she could hear the ringing oh telephones and hushed voices from the closed doors. Other than names, there was not even a sign that might give her a clue of where to go. There had to be some archive, or a place where they kept their records, only how to find-

"Moore! Moore!" she suddenly remembered that was the officer's name and turned around. With sudden inspiration, Tonks morphed her skin a little to look paler and with shadows under her eyes. A tall man in a uniform was walking towards her, papers in his hand. "Are you deaf?"

Tonks shook her head and pointed at her throat. "Sick," she said, with a hoarse, raspy voice. "Bit of a headache."

The man eyed her but she could not say if with suspicious or concern.

"Where's the paperwork on Maloney?" the man said.

Tonks felt her knees tremble.

"Uh... office," she croaked.

"What is the matter with you? We need it right now! The entire family is outside!" the unknown man gestured towards the other end of the corridor. "You get it, bring it, and then go home! You look terrible!"

With that the man left, leaving Tonks thinking bitterly that Muggle police and Aurors were not that different after all.

But she now knew something: where "outside" was. Maybe there was an atrium of sorts in that direction, only she had taken the workers entrance and therefore there were no signs. Hoping not to be stopped by any other busybody, she reached the end of the corridor and opened the door.

It was a large room, lit by sunlight entering from the large glass doors she knew so well from the other side. People were sitting on benches, talking to guards, making phone calls or typing on computers, and the noise was dreadful. And even worse, there was no sign here either, except for a two plaques that read "Waiting room" and "Information". Vaguely she wondered how strange would it be if she would ask for the information she needed to the fellow police officer behind the desk, or if she would have the time to find some place to morph into somebody else. The truth was, she had no clue what to do.

The man talking to the information guard suddenly caught her attention. It was a regular man, pleading with the woman for something she had not been listening so far. What was about him that was off?

"Please," he was saying, "they took away my grandfather's things. And I need to know where did they took them. They told me there is a deposit?"

"Sir, I need you to fill in the proper paperwork," the lady said, passing the man a sheet of paper.

"I just need to know where the things are! I have to be sure that clock is there!" the man insisted.

"I cannot give you that information without the proper authorisation!"

The man looked around and his eyes met Tonks'. And she remembered where she had seen him before. A narrow staircase. Her first lead. Bumping into a man on her way to John McGinty's old flat.

"Moore? How did you-?"

She turned around again. A very young officer was looking at her, bewilderment in his face. "I just saw you passed out inside your car!" he yelled.


	6. The boat

It was a small fishermen town, and at this time of the early morning, the catch of the day was being unloaded from the boats. The smell made Remus fell a little queasy and he quicken his pace towards the far end of the docks. There were no fishermen there, but small boats, some of them occupied by people waking up and starting their business.

After realising that entering the police deposit to find McGinty's confiscated items would require serious planning and maybe some help, Remus had decided to follow a different path. It had taken him many Confundus spells at several Muggle, offices and the showing of several fake police badges, to finally get the accurate information on what McGinty did for a living. There were years from which there were no records, or at least none he could find, while on periods the Muggle seemed to just occupy himself in regular places, working for a while in a cargo ship, later on in a small manufacturer in the northern region, then a small office in London, never causing much fuss, but never getting promotions either.

His last boss, the manager of a large import company, had finally said that McGinty had mentioned buying a boat and go on business on his own. Now, Remus was after the boat, thinking that maybe, just maybe, this had been an absolute waste of time and, without any sinister things going on, the man might had been sitting on that boat all along, enjoying early retirement. He could not tell if he liked that scenario or not.

The _Trader_ was a medium-sized boat, with a small cabin on top, and looked pretty old and shabby. With the income of somebody working at an import company, Remus doubted McGinty could have afforded something else. It was anchored in the middle of a row of similar boats. A man was sweeping the deck lazily, whistling between his teeth. Remus grunted. He was getting tired of having to charm people out of his way in order to get information.

"Good day," the Remus said.

The man stopped his sweeping and nodded.

"I'm looking for McGinty," he decided to go straight to the point.

"You're not the one," the man chortled. "Plenty of people have been looking for him lately. Police. Costumer. Some weird looking fellows. Almost made me wish they wouldn't find him."

"So you don't know where he is?"

"Not a clue. He pays me to clean the deck... but since he hadn't pay me in a while, I'm not doing it anymore."

"And who does he pay to leave his boat here?" Remus asked.

"The city. They pay by the year, so I guess that's why they haven't move the boat yet. Mind you, he might still come back."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes he disappeared, you see? He would travel for a fortnight on the boat, then he would go back to wherever he lived or who knows where and wouldn't show up for weeks, or even months. Then again. So I'm not really worried. But I'm not cleaning that deck." The man added as an afterthought.

Remus wondered for a moment if he could just ask to take a look inside the boat, but he doubted the man, friendly as he was, would allow what essentially was trespassing.

"What do you want with McGinty?" the man suddenly asked.

"I'm a costumer," Remus improvised. "He failed to deliver."

The man frowned. "Yeah, that's what some of the other guys said."

"How many were there?"

"Well," the man thought for a moment. "There was this one, tall fellow, who came a long time ago. Maybe just days after the last time I saw McGinty. Then these other two. Looked like crooks to me, but that's none of my business. They came back days later. And then, last week, the police."

"Busy fellow, that McGinty," Remus said on passing.

"Who would've thought, right?"

"What do you mean?"

The man shrugged.

"Some of these people love to have boats, even if they use them for business, they always invite somebody over and show off. Not McGinty. I don't remember ever seen him with somebody else. And now that he's nowhere to be found, it turns out there are plenty of people wanting to know about him." The man resumed his sweeping and whistling.

Remus looked at the boat, thinking what would be the best way to get inside. As if he had read his thoughts, the man spoke. "Everything has a price, you know."

Oh, bribe. That was something he had not tried yet.

"What sort of price?" Remus asked to gain some time.

The man shrugged. "Depends on how much of the boat would you like to see."

Remus sighed. He had some Muggle money from the Order for this sort of things, but he was not entirely happy with bribe. Maybe because, unlike Confundus and Stunning spells, this would leave a memory of his passing the place.

With an air as indifferent as he could manage, Remus took two crisp notes out of his inner pocket.

"Cheers," said the man. She rummaged in his pocket and drew a handful of keys on a chain. Picking up two, he gave them to Remus. "Enjoy yourself."

Remus nodded and climbed up the deck wondering how many people had actually entered before. If this was so easy, all those others that had come before him had probably searched the boat already and taking whatever there might have left that could lead him somewhere. Still, it was a good opportunity.

The deck was almost empty, but for a couple of empty crates. In the cabin some spare clothes and a couple of food tins were the only sign it had once been occupied. Now Remus ventured downstairs. It was half full with empty boxes. Some of them had stains, but he could not tell what had been inside. Still, carefully, he took a small piece of the carton and was about to conjure a vial to store it safely when an idea struck him.

Remus tapped the boat's wall with his wand. " _Aparecium!_ " Nothing happened. He waved his wand again, and muttered something else. Nothing. A third time he attempted and finally smiled at the orange glow briefly shining from the floor. Magic substances. This place had known magic.

Now it was a matter of finding out what sort of magic. As far as he knew, the magic traces could date from years, even from the previous owner of the boat. But maybe, just maybe, McGinty had tried to be cleaver with his links to the magical community. Which meant... there were dozens of different possibilities going far beyond a random missing Muggle.

Now Remus did conjured a glass phial, and carefully put the fragment of stained carton box inside. He would need some peace and quiet to find out what it was.


	7. The snoop

**AN:** Thanks very very much for reading!

I had to go back and make a couple of adjustments to chapter 5. I hope it all makes more sense now.

Of course, everything you recognise belongs to the amazing JK Rowling.

* * *

When she had arrived at the Ministry after her experiences with Muggle police, she had a much needed nice surprise. After all the paperwork and despite Scrimgeour's doubts, the file had arrived. It was a copy of the Muggle file on McGinty, and the police investigation on his disappearance. She could still not access the confiscated things, but the file on her desk, a perfect _Gemino_ of the original inside the station - Tonks had flinched at the though... no, better not to think about it ever again -, had plenty of interesting facts about her target. He travelled a lot. He owned a boat. He had been in Poland and Finland several times, but she'd look on that later. No criminal record, only some parking tickets. A good enough citizen, apparently. And finally now she had a picture to go with the mental image of the man.

Thee was a resemblance with the picture she had copied from Demeter Clearwater. McGinty's face looked boyish, although his hair was receding, and he looked as if he had put on some more weight. Tonks checked for known acquaintances, but since he had never been, or been caught in something fishy, there was none.

And that's when the big question filled her brain again. The question she had been asking herself since he had seen him again, asking for some lost items at the police station.

Who was that man?

She had seen him twice, both in places related to McGinty. Was he a Muggle or a wizard? What exactly was he after? Was this just a very odd coincidence? Or were there two men that looked weirdly alike?

She did not think so. And even if she were wrong, she could not take the risk. Not with the threats on the Ministry Fudge kept talking about day and night. This person might just have something to do with McGinty, but it could be much more complex and his involvement on the case could be about that destabilisation of the regime. So far, Tonks had had no proof of this, other than Fudge word and considerable changes on the Aurors tasks. Maybe it was all a big mistake. Even so, if it was in her hands to prove it, she had to whatever possible to achieve that.

And if that was it, then Tonks' case had suddenly become much more serious. But how to find out? How to even know who the mysterious man was?

Her first idea had been to call Mrs. Jones, McGinty's former landlady, to ask about the name of the man coming before her. Saying that she was sure that man was an old acquaintance and that she very much liked to have his telephone proved to be convincing enough. Only, James Miller did not live in the address belonging to the telephone number Mrs. Jones gave her. Which increased the possibilities of something fishy going on.

No, she would have to track him in some other way. The only thing was that after the police station fiasco – Tonks shuddered at how close it had been and at the memory of her less-than-graceful run towards the door, her knocking over an old lady on her way out and the way she had had to hastily Disapparate, almost splinching herself – she did not feel very confident about what to do next.

The only good think she could count on was the fact that the man, whatever his name was, had not seen her for real, but in two different morphed identities. And she knew something else. They both shared a common interest.

So, for now, the best course of action seemed to go on with her main research, hoping to meet him again. The boat might be her best shot, if the unknown man had been doing his homework and had found that already.

The town was what was to be expected. A small harbour, fishermen, cobbled streets. Tonks had arrived earlier and under the protection of a Disillusionment charm, she was spending a good half an hour trying to decide her course of action. Should she ask the people in charge of the dock is somebody had recently asked about McGinty's? Should she just sneak inside and wait to see if the unknown man would also come? That could take days, or months, or maybe he would never show up. What if this had been just a very bad idea?

She watched distractedly the man who went outside one of the boats and started sweeping the dock, and not much later, a second man approaching him and engaging in conversation. Her heart stopped briefly. Was she going to be this lucky? It was him! What was she going to do now?

For a moment it seemed both men were happy just chatting, until the newcomer gave something to the man with the broom and stepped on the boat.

Tonks approached it as close as she could without making noises that would sound strange to the other man. From where she was standing, it seemed that the newcomer – her rival? – was searching cupboards and boxes. Tonks considered entering the boat and demanding to know what he was doing there... but he could have more right than she to be there to begin with. Maybe he was an old pal of McGinty's. Maybe he was an accomplice of... of what? She could, of course, use the full power of the Ministry and interrogate him as an Auror, but maybe there was no reason for that. And if he was a Muggle, the Ministry would have no power whatsoever... and she would have to deal with memory modifications and loads of paperwork afterwards.

She would just have to chat with him. Casually. No suspicions raised.

Would she be able to do that? How was she going to engage an unknown man in a would-be casual conversation, hoping for him to spill the beans on possible criminal activities?

She would have to try, at least.

Her eyes still on the boat, she suddenly saw something that made her almost gasp. Something was very faintly glowing from the inside. Throwing caution to the winds, Tonks took the few steps that separated her from it, just in time to see the man putting something in an inner pocket of his jacket.

A wand.

A wide smile spread upon Tonks' features.

Finally.

Concentrating hard to morph without losing the Disillusionment charm, she re-arranged her features and practised a couple of lines in her head. And if none of it worked, she could always show him her badge.


End file.
